


S1E15: The Benders

by CharlieWinchester (youve_been_winchestered)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Remix, Episode: s01e15 The Benders, Gen, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1850218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youve_been_winchestered/pseuds/CharlieWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Season 1, Episode 15: The Benders</p>
<p>Sam was dirty. He had been stuck in that goddamned cage for two days. The dickbags only fed him once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	S1E15: The Benders

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've written fanfic, so any and all feedback is lovely!   
> Thanks for taking time to read :) 
> 
> Am I supposed to say that I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters/people? Because although it's true, it doesn't make me any happier.

Set in Season 1, Episode 15: The Benders

 

Sam was dirty. He had been stuck in that goddamned cage for two days. The dickbags only fed him once. Sam didn’t know how much longer he could do this. He wondered where Dean was, what was taking him so long. Even though it had only been 48 hours, all Sam wanted was Dean. Last night, Sam dreamed that Dean found him, those green eyes wide and questioning, running all over Sam to make sure he wasn’t hurt, but still with a smile—more like a smirk—pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Dean was always smirking at Sam, like he knew something that Sam didn’t. Sam decided that he would do just about anything to see that little smile of his, just to know that Dean was still there.

Dream-Sam pushed his hand through the cage bars, reaching for Dean, desperately needing to feel his touch. Dean took Sam’s hand and intertwined their fingers, saying—

“Put the bitch over next to Gigantor.”

The man was dirty. They were all so dirty. He was actually just down right _gross._ Disgusting.

The man was dragging a woman. She looked like a cop, but it was too dark. Sam couldn’t be sure. And the man, all but gently, hauled her into the cage next to Sam, banging her head a few times.

“Hey,” Sam shouted, “Who is she? What did you do to her?”

“Shut your goddamned mouth, Sasquatch,” one of the men yelled, banging on the side of Sam’s cage with his fist. Sam backed away a little from the side but rolled his eyes. If these ass hats were going to keep him prisoner, they should at least have the decency to come up with some original nicknames.

The man shrank down, right in front of Sam’s face. Sam looked at him with hard eyes. The man laughed, his breath smelled like rotting meat. Sam recoiled, away from the man, into the corner of his cage. He shut his goddamned mouth.

“If you don’t behave, I just might have to make you,” the man whispered. Sam willed himself not blink. Not to look weak. He had to look strong. No matter how badly he wanted to give up. To let them do what they wanted. No matter how badly he wanted to stop trying to escape.

No matter how badly he wanted to melt into Dean’s arms, for Dean to tell him that he’s _safe, Sammy. Nothing can hurt you while I’m here._

The man stared at Sam for a few seconds. Just until the other one said, “Hey, Jared, let’s go. We’ll come back for ‘em later. You know how Pa gets.”

“Yeah, yeah, Lee. I’m comin’ right now,” the man, whose name was apparently Jared, said. He took one last look at Sam, and spit to the side. He smiled a dirty, evil smile and got up. The two men left the barn after checking the locks on the cages one last time.

Sam just hoped Dean was on his way. If Dean even knew where Sam was.

 

The next time Sam awoke, it was dark again. He looked over to the woman in the cage beside his. She was waking up, too.

The woman rolled her head a few times, breathing heavy. She raised a hand to her forehead, wincing.

“You alright?” Sam asked. The woman looked at him, startled.

“Are you Sam Winchester?” she asked, turning to face him. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said quickly.

“Your, uh, your cousin’s looking for you.”

Sam shook his head, smiling into his lap. _Dean._

“Thank God. Where is he?” he asked.

“I… I cuffed him to my car,” the woman said. She exhaled and looked at the floor. Sam’s relief vanished. He wanted to scream at the woman. He wanted to tell her that Dean was the only one who could save them. But Sam got the feeling that the woman already knew that. Sam shook his head and looked away.

He tried to think. He knew Dean. Dean always had a plan. A small hitch like handcuffs couldn’t keep him from saving Sam, could it?

Suddenly, there was a loud clank, and the door to the barn opened. Sam stiffened and felt his heartbeat speed up. He heard a pair of boots stepping lightly. It was too quiet for it to be the two men that had captured him. At least, Sam hoped it was. He forced himself to calm down and to breathe quietly, not making a noise.

Sam heard him before he saw him.

“Sam?” Dean said, rushing to the side of his cage. Sam’s face broke into a relieved smile. He pushed his hand through the cage bars, reaching for Dean, fingers outstretched. Dean grabbed Sam’s hand.

“Are you hurt?” Dean all but growled.

“No,” Sam said, smiling wider, twining their fingers together. Dean slammed his palm onto the side of Sam’s cage.

“Damn, it’s good to see you,” Dean sighed, trying to get closer to Sam.

“Likewise,” Sam replied, “Now, can you get me out of here? I really need a shower. If this is what all farm animals feel like, I don’t like it.”

Dean stared at Sam, trying to memorize his brother’s face. As if he hadn’t memorized it already. He had a long time ago. All of the dips and curves, and those damn dimples. When Sam smiled, Dean found it hard not to smile back at him.

Recently, Dean had been noticing some things. Things he wasn’t entirely sure about. He noticed when Sam began to stand closer to him, touch his shoulder or his arm more than necessary. He noticed when Sam watched him sleep sometimes. And when Sam thought Dean wasn’t looking, sometimes Dean would catch his brother just… looking at him. _Really_ looking at him. Dean never mentioned any of the things he noticed to Sam. Mostly because Dean was sure Sam had noticed him doing the same things.

He reluctantly let go of Sam’s hand and left the room. When he came back, he had the key to the locks on the cages.

“One of the idiots dropped this,” Dean laughed. He released both Sam and the woman, who Sam learned was named Kathleen. And she was, in fact, a cop. Deputy, really.

But Dean and Sam forgot about Kathleen for a few moments. Dean ran to Sam and helped him out of his cage carefully. He didn’t want to hurt his brother. Dean stood Sam up in front of him and pulled him into his arms.

“ _Sammy,_ ” Dean sighed. He pressed his nose into Sam’s neck and inhaled, making sure he still smelled like Sam. He smelled like sweat and something decidedly metallic, mostly, but just under that, if Dean pushed a little more into Sam’s skin, he found it. The smell that was just _Sam_. Like the way libraries feel and newspapers look and _look after your little brother, Dean._ Dean put his arms around Sam’s shoulders, keeping his face near Sam’s collarbone.

“Dean, I’m fine. I’m not hurt. I’m okay,” Sam said, smiling into Dean’s hair. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, breathing him in.

“I thought I lost you, goddammit,” Dean said, squeezing his arms tighter, pressing his face further into Sam’s skin. Sam felt the flutter of Dean’s lips against him when he spoke, and Sam shivered. Dean felt it against his chest.

“Are you cold, Sammy? Are you sick?” Dean asked pulling back to look into Sam’s face.

“No,” Sam said, “not at all.”

He stared into Dean’s eyes. Dean must have understood that, Sam thought. He must have known how much Sam really _loved_ his brother. But Sam didn’t say that he loved Dean. He just pressed his body back into Dean’s, so they were touching from their chests down to their thighs. Sam wanted to stay like this with Dean forever.

And, not for the first time, Sam wanted to kiss his brother. He wanted a real, open mouthed, passionate kiss. He wanted a kiss that neither of them would regret afterwards. But, Sam didn’t mention this to Dean. He wouldn’t; not until he was sure his brother wanted it, too. Not until he was absolutely, positively sure. Or just until he had gotten Dean entirely and completely drunk.

Kathleen cleared her throat from the behind them. It was the first time Sam had actually considered knocking out a woman.

“Uh, so, how do we get out of here?” she asked. “Don’t we need some sort of plan?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a plan,” Dean replied, disentangling himself from Sam and looking at Kathleen. “Don’t get killed.”

Kathleen stared at Dean with wide eyes. Dean rolled his, and Sam stepped in front of his brother.

“Okay,” Sam said, “Here’s the plan.”

 

 

 

Sam and Dean went around to the back of the house. Sam told Dean to take down the two bigger guys while he worked on getting the father and the youngest sister, Missy. Kathleen went to find her police cruiser and call backup.

“Aw, Sammy. Why do I gotta take the big guys? All you’re getting is some old guy and a _girl_ ,” Dean complained. Sam walked up closer to Dean.

“She is one hell of a ten-year-old, Dean,” Sam explained, “and he is one hell of an old guy.”

Dean pouted and started to turn away, going to find some way into the house undetected. But Sam took hold of his brother’s sleeve, turning Dean around to face him. He raised his hands up to Dean’s jacket collar and pulled on the ends.

“Hey,” Sam said. Dean slid his eyes up Sam’s body until he met his younger brother’s eyes. Dean was second-guessing this. It was risky. Especially with Sam already weak from being in that cage with barely any food or water for days. But when Dean looked up, Sam was already staring at him. His gaze eased Dean’s nerves a little. Sam could always do that. Dean didn’t really know how. Dean noticed that Sam was wearing one of his undershirts. It was green. There was a faint stain on the collar, and Dean traced it with the tip of his finger. Sam noticed that Dean was wearing his jeans. They were bunched up a bit by his ankles. Sam didn’t say anything about it. Neither did Dean.

“This’ll work, man. I know it will. Then we can get out of here and take a couple days off,” Sam explained, resting his hands on Dean’s chest. Dean still felt uneasy.

“I just… I don’t want to almost-lose you. Again,” Dean said, looking down.

Sam rolled his eyes and turned he corner of his mouth up. He pushed his arms up around Dean’s neck and pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together and putting his cheek against Dean’s.

“You won’t. I’ll be careful,” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear. Dean pushed his face into Sam’s neck again and breathed him in through his nose. He slid his arms around Sam’s waist, fingers stopping just shy of the back pockets on his jeans.

“And you’ll be careful too,” Sam added. Dean nodded into the crook of Sam’s neck. He pulled away and put his hands by his sides, his gaze hardening. Sam stared back at him. He didn’t tell Dean that he loved him.

Instead, Sam said, “I’ll go around front. You go in from here. I’ll lock the girl in a closet or something and take down the old guy. You’ve got the other two. We’ll meet in the middle. We good?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. See you on the other side,” Sam said. He pulled on Dean’s collar one more time, just to make sure that he was still Dean. Then, Sam turned and jogged around to the front of the house to distract the family while Dean went in through the back.

Sam opened the door slowly and quietly, eyes moving constantly. He was in luck—the girl was right in front of a closet. She was looking for something. This was almost too easy. Sam didn’t wait to find out why; he just knocked her out, pushed her in and quietly closed the door shut, pulling the lock. He stopped and put his forehead on the door, closing his eyes and breathing heavy. Sam stood there for a few moments, collecting himself and slowing his pulse. He would never admit it to Dean, but doing this sort of thing made him nervous. But then again, so did Dean.

He opened his eyes and turned around slowly, creeping around a corner. The only thing Sam hadn’t planned on was the old man knowing he was there _._

 

When Sam woke up, which he hoped was only a few minutes later, he was still on the floor of the house. He didn’t understand why the man hadn’t killed him. Sam didn’t dwell on it for too long, though, because he heard a loud bang—a gun—and a grunt in a room down the hall. _Dean._ He got up as quick as he could, wobbling a little bit, and walked quickly and quietly down the hall.

When he got to the room, he peeked around the corner, sinking down to make sure he wouldn’t be seen. Sam looked around the room and stood when he was sure there weren’t any threats.

What he did find, though, was Dean. In the corner he couldn’t see before, Dean was strapped to a chair and was bleeding. And on his shoulder, there was a hole burned through his jacket, probably his skin too.

Sam saw that the two men, Jared and Lee, were both dead on opposite sides of the room, he could just see the old man’s feet poking out from another doorway.

Sam rushed to Dean’s side.

“Dean!” Sam said loudly, shaking his brother. Dean’s head lolled to the right and his eyes were closed, his mouth open slightly.

“Dean!” Sam said again. “Dean, wake up!”

Dean slowly opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Sam, eyes wide and frantic. He smiled a broken smile, trying to move his arms and legs.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean said, “Did we get ‘em?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. Instead, he immediately started on the ropes holding Dean. After he cut through all of them carefully, he pulled Dean up and to him, one hand in Dean’s hair, and the other around his waist.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. He knew I was there. I didn’t see him, Dean, I—”

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean interrupted quietly, “It’s okay. I’ll make it.”

Sam just stood with Dean there for a while, keeping his arms around his brother. He didn’t tell Dean how nervous he got, or how scared he was. He didn’t tell Dean that he loved him, either.

Dean didn’t tell Sam how scared he was. How he thought that the bastards had killed his little brother. Dean didn’t want Sam to let him go. Ever. He wanted to stay with Sam, forever like this. Well, maybe not bleeding and trying to stay awake, but he still wanted Sam. Just Sam. But he didn’t tell Sam any of that. He didn’t tell Sam that he loved him, either.

“Dean, can we go back to the hotel now?” Sam asked. He pulled back from Dean, looking him over. “You don’t look so good, Dean. Let’s go. We gotta get out of here before the cops show up,” he added.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay Sammy.”

“Dean? How did they bite the bullet with you strapped to a chair?”

“Shot each other. Going on about how they were going to get caught.”

Sam didn’t question that.

So Sam carried Dean out and away from the eerily quiet, dirty house. One arm around his brother’s waist, one of Dean’s arms slung over Sam’s shoulders, and their hips bumping together every so often.

 

 

 

When Sam finally reached the hotel, it was morning. Dean hadn’t gotten any better during the walk back. Sam had dragged him along the side of the road until he could find a car to hijack. Sam drove the stolen car the rest of the way to the hotel, Dean sleeping most of the way.

Dean couldn’t remember who grabbed whose hand first. Neither could Sam.

When they reached the hotel, Sam parked the car in the lot across from it. That way, no one would suspect they’d stolen it.

“Dean? Dean, hey, wake up,” Sam said gently, touching Dean’s shoulder. Dean woke up with a groan, leaning towards Sam.

“Sammy,” Dean said. Sometimes Dean did that. Just to make sure Sam was there. Sam didn’t question it. Dean didn’t explain. He just waited for Sam to walk around to his side of the car and help him walk to their room.

Sam opened the door to their room and stepped in, hauling Dean with him. He shut the door behind them, and helped his older brother lay down on the bed closest to the door, unlacing his boots and pulling them off.

Sam told himself that he unbuttoned his older brother’s jeans and took them off, along with his jackets, because he wanted Dean to be more comfortable, not because of any other reason.

When Dean just sighed and rolled over, Sam assumed he had fallen asleep. Sam decided that he would take a much-needed shower, taking off his jeans but leaving Dean’s shirt on and heading towards the bathroom. But, before he had the chance, Dean rolled back over. He opened his mouth and, if Sam didn’t know better he would say Dean _whined,_ reaching for Sam’s fingers.

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean whispered. He tried to sit up, but Sam pushed him back down onto the bed. Dean still reached for Sam.

“Don’t get up, Dean. You’ll hurt yourself. What do you need?” Sam said. He let Dean grab hold of his hand. Dean pulled Sam down towards him, Sam bending over at the waist. Sam let go of his brother’s hand, bracing his arms on either side of Dean’s head.

“What, Dean?”

“Just… don’t.”

Sam watched Dean carefully, their faces inches apart. Was Dean hesitating? Dean was so sure about everything. Why would he be hesitating?

“Don’t, what?” Sam asked quietly, leaning in to hear Dean better.

“Don’t… leave, Sammy,” Dean said, his voice barely a whisper. Sam tried to hide his surprise. He also tried to hide his nervousness.

“Okay,” Sam said looking away from Dean to go sit on the other bed. Dean pulled on the neckline of Sam’s shirt, fingers grazing the skin underneath. Sam stopped, looking back at Dean.

“No,“ Dean said. He stared at Sam, his eyes intense and focused on his younger brother’s. Sam furrowed his brow in confusion at first, and Dean pulled harder at him. He didn’t explain. Sam realized that he didn’t need Dean to explain.

Dean moved over to the side, still pulling at Sam. But Sam didn’t move right away. He stared at Dean, eyes wide, giving Dean time to change his mind if he wanted.

It wasn’t the sleeping in the same bed that Sam was hesitant about. They’d shared a bed more times than Sam, or Dean, could count. But it was the first time since Sam had realized that he wanted to kiss his brother. The first time since Sam had realized that he really _loved_ Dean.

It was the first time since Dean had realized the same things about Sam.

“Okay,” Sam whispered, his breath hot over Dean’s face. He lifted one knee onto Dean’s bed, and then the other. He helped Dean turn over, so his back was facing Sam. Dean was already half asleep. Sam lay down behind Dean, pressing his body into his brother’s, slowly. Dean rolled his hips back into the dip between Sam’s, pressing his back more firmly against his younger brother’s. Sam exhaled and slid his hand over Dean’s waist, moving up his chest. Sam stopped when Dean lifted his hand and threaded their fingers together.

Dean couldn’t see it, but Sam smiled and pushed his face into the back of Dean’s neck. He smelled like blood and sweat and leather and just so very _Dean_ that Sam, when he was sure Dean was asleep, pushed his mouth onto Dean’s neck, too. It wasn’t so much a kiss, as it was Sam just trying to feel more of Dean.

Sam hadn’t expected Dean to shiver at the press of his brother’s mouth against his neck and tighten his hold on Sam’s fingers. Sam pulled his face back from Dean quickly and tried to control his racing heart rate. Dean leaned back into Sam, still asleep.

 

Sam woke up hours later, tangled in his brother and breathing into his hair. They had moved since Sam fell asleep. Sam was on his back now, with Dean’s nose in the place where Sam’s shoulder met his neck. Sam felt every breath that Dean took, slow and steady. One of Dean’s arms was draped over Sam’s waist, his pinkie finger _just barely_ under the waistline of Sam’s underwear. Dean’s hand twitched in his sleep, pushing another finger a little father under the elastic of Sam’s boxer-briefs. Dean’s leg was hiked up around Sam’s knee, but Dean sighed and moved it downward, trying to curl his ankle around Sam’s.

            Sam just breathed for a while, feeling Dean’s fingers twitch every couple minutes under his waistline and pushing his own fingers _just barely_ under the hem of Dean’s shirt. He stayed there, just until Dean shifted in his sleep, his lips moving against Sam’s neck, stretching his arm out and pushing _his whole damn hand_ down Sam’s shorts, resting on his _bare thigh,_ and Sam realized that he just had to get up _now_ and that there was _no way_ Dean could still be asleep, could there?

Sam panicked a little, breathing hard and _not_ getting a hard-on. He moved the hand that was around Dean slowly and carefully, so as not to wake his brother (if he was even sleeping), and pulling Dean’s hand _out of_ _his damn shorts_. Although he wanted to stay there, all wrapped up in Dean like that, he just had to take a shower. It had been at least three days and Sam just felt so _dirty_. He looked at the clock beside the bed. It read 7:30 PM. They’d slept clear through the day.

After he’d successfully disentangled himself from Dean, Sam stumbled around the dark room looking for the bathroom door. He opened it and turned on the light, visibly shuddering at his reflection in the mirror.

His hair was a mess, for starters. It was everywhere, and unwashed. His clothes were torn and dirty, and he smelled like sweat and smoke and Dean. He looked back at Dean, who was still sleeping, and then shut the door, turning on the shower.

He didn’t see Dean open one eye and smirk into his pillow.

Sam had just started washing the last three days of dirt off of his body when Dean swung the door open.

“How’re you holdin’ up, Sammy?” Dean asked, voice rough and sleepy. Sam looked back at him through a gap in the curtain.

“I’m alright. Real question is, how are you?” Sam asked in reply. When Dean didn’t answer, Sam looked through the curtain again. He caught Dean just staring at him. Staring _straight at him._

Dean had seen Sam naked before. Sam had seen Dean naked before. So Sam just stared right back at Dean, putting his hands at his sides, water running down his shoulders.

“Dean?” Sam asked. Dean looked up to his brother’s face, his mouth parted a little. He looked away from Sam quickly and picked up his toothbrush when he saw Sam staring back at him.

“Yeah, Sammy, I’m alright. I’m going to need your help with this burn, though. Hurts like a son of a bitch,” Dean said, keeping his eyes away from the shower entirely. Sam continued with his shower, trying to seem unaffected by Dean.

“Okay, sure. You should shower first,” Sam said. Whether Dean chose to shower when Sam got out or _right this very second_ , Sam figured he didn’t mind either way.

“Hurry up,” Dean said, turning to leave the room. Sam just hummed in reply and finished what he was doing, pretending he wasn’t disappointed that Dean left.

When Sam came out of the bathroom, dressed in loose-fitting sweatpants, one of his grey t-shirts—or was it Dean’s? Sam couldn’t remember—and hair dripping, Dean was sitting on his bed, examining the burn and other bruises he acquired during the last… hunt. Although, hunting people usually wasn’t part of the Winchester job description.

Sam shook off his uncertain feelings and said, “Do you need any help?”

Dean looked at him, wincing when he tried to move his arm.

“I think the douche bags dislocated my damn shoulder. Can you pop it back for me?” Dean asked, moving to the edge of the bed. “And then I need to take a shower. Big time.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Sam’s mouth. He walked over to Dean and positioned one hand on the front of Dean’s chest, close to his shoulder, and the other on his back.

“On three,” Sam said, “One—“ and then Sam pulled hard and shoved back, hearing an audible crack-like thump in Dean’s shoulder.

Dean groaned, loudly, and fell forward, pushing his face into Sam’s stomach, exhaling sharply and lifting his hands, curling his fingers into the hem of Sam’s shirt. Sam pushed his fingers through Dean’s hair, wincing.

“Sorry, Dean. Are you okay?” Sam asked, pulling Dean’s head back to look at his face. Dean looked up at Sam, a smile trying to pull at his mouth.

“What happened to my two extra seconds?” Dean joked, pushing up onto his feet. When he swayed a bit, Sam reached out to grab him, laughing.

“Thought it would hurt less if I caught you by surprise. Let’s get you into the shower, yeah?” Sam said, pushing Dean towards the bathroom.

Dean smirked at Sam. “Doesn’t work that way, Sammy,” he said, winking and closing the door behind him. Sam was _definitely not blushing_.

Twenty minutes later, Dean walked out of the bathroom, steam following him in billows through the open door. He only had a towel on. Sam looked down at the floor, trying to hide his blush and mumbling something about getting the first aid kit from the Impala, leaving the room.

Dean pretended not to notice. He tried even harder when he saw one of the two first-aid kits that they carry sitting in one of their duffels across the room.

When Sam returned, first-aid kit in hand, Dean was dressed only in a pair of Sam’s old grey sweatpants that hung low on his waist, showing the white elastic waistband of his underwear. Sam tried not to notice the smooth skin that disappeared under the elastic, or the sharp but somehow soft-looking jut of Dean’s hipbones. Sam could almost see right where his thumbs would fit, right where his fingerprints would lie.

Dean looked up at Sam expectantly, shaking Sam out of his trance, pointing at the burn on his shoulder.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dean said, sitting down in one of the two chairs in the hotel room.

Sam filled a glass of water, took out a rag, a gauze pad, and medical tape, among other things, touching the skin around Dean’s shoulder and sitting in front of him in the other chair.

“Damn,” Sam said, “Those guys really did a number on you.”

He tried to distract Dean while he cleaned his shoulder, but no such luck. Dean hissed and swore, knuckles going white where his fingers were wrapped around the arm of his chair.

“You’re tellin’ me. I’m just happy we took care of those sadistic ass-clowns,” Dean gritted out.

Sam finished dressing Dean’s wounds and gave him some aspirin. “There,” Sam said also handing Dean a glass of water, “We should probably just hang around here today, okay?”

“Okay Sammy,” Dean sighed, grabbing a t-shirt from his duffel. He walked over and sat himself down in the middle of Sam’s bed, turning on the TV. Sam tried not to think about how they hadn’t used that bed last night, because they’d slept together.

Sam tried not to think about his mouth pressed into the skin of Dean’s neck, the skin that smelled so much like Dean that he wanted to do it again. Instead Sam thought about how he woke up to Dean wrapped around him, all sleep-warm skin and soft sighs and his damn wandering hands.

Sam cursed himself for not getting Dean drunk before he decided to clean him up.

Sam walked over to Dean and lie down next to him, making sure their thighs touched. “Can I watch crappy daytime television with you, Dean?” he asked.

Dean smirked, turning to face Sam. “Yeah, Sammy,” Dean replied. Sam almost fell off of the side of the bed when Dean smoothed his hand over the back of Sam’s, pulling Sam’s hand into his lap and twining their fingers together.

Dean looked at Sam for a while, not explaining. But Sam didn’t need Dean to explain. And then, Sam took a risk.

“I love you, Dean.”

Sam stayed focused on their fingers. Dean pulled Sam’s chin up so he could look into Sam’s eyes. What Sam saw there wasn’t confusion and hesitation. All Sam saw was warm and home and _Dean_ and it was almost too much for him to take in all at once. Dean squeezed Sam’s hand; smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Feeling’s mutual, Sammy.”

Sam just thought, _of course Dean would say it like that._

All of a sudden, Sam realized that Dean’s face was much too close to his. So close that his nose was touching Sam’s and if he moved _just a little to the right_ he would be able to move in and press his lips against Dean’s, kiss his brother like he’s wanted to for a long time. But, Dean wasn’t drunk. And Dean wasn’t asleep. And Sam couldn’t kiss his brother, could he?

"That's not really how I meant it, Dean," Sam said. Sam looked down, away from Dean. He started pulling away, started to untangle their fingers. But Dean’s free hand slid up behind Sam’s neck, keeping Sam right in front of Dean’s face. Kept him right in front of Dean’s parted lips and his breath and his skin. Dean looked Sam square in the eyes. Sam looked right back at him, his breath slow and steady against Dean’s chin.

Dean looked down at Sam’s lips and said, “ _I know_ how you meant it. Kiss me, baby brother.”

And, well, how could Sam refuse?

He was hesitant at first, slow. Inched—more like _centimetered_ —toward Dean, looking into his eyes until they got too blurry. And then Sam closed his, and let his mouth do the exploring for once.

Sam felt Dean’s smile against his lips—no, he felt Dean’s _smirk_ , the bastard. Of course he was smirking at Sam. But Sam didn’t mind at all, he just pressed himself into Dean further, tilting his head to the side and pushing his mouth against Dean’s.

Their kiss was lazy and slow, languid lips moving in rhythm, silent poetry. It was warm and soft, like spring and summer, the leather in the Impala and the good kind of whiskey. Sam straddled Dean’s hips, Dean fitting his fingers under the thin material of Sam’s shirt onto his warm skin, into the dip of Sam’s hipbones. Dean just _had_ to let Sam lick open his mouth, over his teeth and tangle with his tongue. Dean just _had_ to let Sam push his fingers into his hair and around to the back of his neck, pulling him even further towards Sam.

Dean pressed himself flush against Sam, from their chests down to their hips, making sure that they were touching in all of the right places. Dean could _feel_ Sam through his clothes and when Sam sucked and nipped at Dean’s bottom lip, Dean just flat out _moaned_.

This time, Dean felt Sam’s smirk against his lips, and Dean slowed them down again, realizing that they had been kissing harder and faster, tugging at each other. Dean moved his hands to Sam’s forearms, trying to pull his brother back, trying unsuccessfully to break their kiss. But Sam wouldn’t let Dean go, grabbing at his hair and this neck, forcing their mouths to stay sealed together. Not that Dean minded entirely all that much.

Dean laughed into Sam’s mouth, mumbling Sam’s name into his brother’s lips. Dean put his hands on either side of Sam’s face, fitting his thumbs against the corners of Sam’s mouth and pushing Sam’s head backwards. Dean pulled his head back too, kissing Sam once more softly before breaking away. Sam chased his mouth, the tip of his tongue swiping over his own bottom lip, but Dean held Sam’s head back, laughing softly again.

“Sammy, “ Dean whispered, “Sammy, slow down. I’ll be here all night.”

Sam slid his hands down Dean’s chest, under the hem of his t-shirt and pushed his hands back up again. Dean’s skin was just so _warm_ under Sam’s palms, just so _perfect_ and so _Dean_ that Sam shuddered into him. Sam looked into his brother’s eyes; how didn’t he notice that they were just so _green_?

“You don’t… know how long I’ve wanted to do that, Dean,” Sam said slowly, carefully waiting for Dean’s reaction. Dean just smirked again, the dick, and said, “Who wouldn’t?”

Sam’s mouth fell open, eyes wide and he huffed a laugh. “Of course,” he said, pushing Dean’s arms up, silently willing Dean to let him take his shirt off.

“You sure you want this, Sammy?” Dean asked, “There ain’t no going back, you know.”

Sam pulled off his own shirt, pressing his skin into Dean’s, watching his brother shiver and feeling Dean’s fingers hover over his waistband. Sam pushed his face into Dean, teeth grazing his neck before pressing a kiss there and feeling Dean’s pulse under his lips.

Sam pulled back, looking at Dean, and said, “I think it’s a little late to be asking me that, don’t you think?”

Dean just laughed his response, Sam moving in to press their lips together. Before he had the chance, Dean turned his head to the side, forcing Sam to kiss his cheek instead.

“How are you so sure _I_ want this, Sammy?” Dean asked. Sam panicked instantly, hands shaking slightly before his mind caught up to him. Then, Sam smirked at Dean.

“Are you kidding me? You asked _me_ to kiss _you_ , you jerk. And that was after you shoved your _whole hand down my shorts_ , Dean.There was no way you were sleeping,” Sam decided. Dean looked stunned for a moment and then tipped his head back, laughing loud. Sam looked at him with a smile.

“Am I really that transparent?” Dean asked, still chuckling to himself.

“Almost always,” Sam replied, finally going back in and slotting his mouth against Dean’s, a just-barely-there smile fading ever so slowly from his lips. Dean kissed his brother back, not letting an inch of space between them.

Sam decided that if the apocalypse rained down on them that very moment, he wouldn’t even notice.

Dean decided the same thing.


End file.
